


to find an anchor

by roboticake



Series: To find an anchor [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Fisherman Hanzo Shimada, M/M, Sailor Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11314881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake
Summary: When Jesse left the United States for Japan a year ago, he didn't sign up to deal with a shipwreck, a Japanese fisherman-probably-not-a-fisherman with trust issues, and definitely not magic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First McHanzo work, yay!
> 
> This fic has a Graphic Depictions Of Violence warning, mostly for later chapters, but it's just to be safe. 
> 
> Also thank you so much suchashay, for your patience (and your dad jokes). Your input and correction helped me a lot!

 

The world was spinning, the sky rumbling, and amidst the chaos of creaking steel and roaring thunder, Jesse McCree was smiling.

There was nothing amusing in the way the ship was breaking under the rubber of his shoes, nor in the way other sailors were shouting. But it was funny, Jesse thought, it was funny how this situation reminded him of the Titanic movie.

Jesse snorted, then grimaced. His socks were disgustingly wet, the salt of the water made his skin itch.

“McCree,” the captain barked, tugging at Jesse’s artificial left arm, a prosthetic he got years ago. “Quit your shit, boy. We’re going!”

Ah, yes. This shipwreck reminded Jesse of the Titanic, but it wasn’t a Titanic-worthy kind of story. They  _could_  go. They  _could_  escape. After all, this whole situation not only lacked women wanting " _to be drawn like a French girl_ ", but also death.

Jesse never wished for death. He just grew used to expect it. Still, even though everything broke in a cacophony of creaking steel and loud shouts, there was nothing life-threatening about this shipwreck.

The sea could be ruthless against the hull and the thunder intimidating above them; they both left enough respite to let the whole crew find the lifeboats safely. A miracle, for most of the sailors. Just chance, Jesse thought grimly, following his captain.

He helped one of the last sailors climb onto a lifeboat, then turned back to study with pursed lips the deck of the ship.

“McCree,” the captain repeated, instantly alarmed. He was extending a hand, waiting impatiently.

Jesse shook his head. He squinted, trying to see through the thick rain; blinked the water out of his eyelashes.

“You sure there’s no one left?” he asked.

While the ship wasn’t very large, it was spacious enough to have several rooms; and Jesse couldn’t help wondering what would happen if someone was stuck. He shuddered at the thought, and stepped further away from his captain.

“Boy-!” came an exasperated voice behind him.

Jesse frowned as he reached the corridor. Why was everyone panicking now? Despite the uncomfortable uniform he wore and his heavy boots, he could swim. And the ship was old, of course, but sturdy enough to hold a couple of minute more, didn’t it?

“I’ll be back,” he shouted over his shoulder, unsure if the gust of wind made him audible. He didn’t,  _couldn’t_ , wait for an answer, though, and so he marched on.

He needed to check the storage room. He knew the youngest of the recruits, Olivia and Makoto, liked to hide there to play with their phone, to the point some people often forgot them when they reached shore.

Jesse shouted their name as he approached the stairs, winced when the floor creaked under him. Water was reaching his calves now, and the corridor downstairs was almost entirely flooded. He needed to move faster. The ship was sinking too rapidly.

He raised a foot, pursing his lips as the water and the thick material of his boots made every step a chore. He stomped down with a grunt.

And gasped.

Jesse felt his leg pierce through the wood of the floor.

“Fuck”, he cursed through gritted teeth.

He should have known the planks would yield under his weight. They already cracked, before, and were patched up too superficially with tape and-

The hull moaned around Jesse. He struggled, jaw squared. The wooden planks around his leg dug painfully in his thigh, sharp splinters piercing his skin. Jesse groaned, his trapped foot kicking uselessly beneath him.

The splashes of water and the cries of the crew were lost when a wave crashed again upon the ship and his face. Jesse squinted, the salt of the water irritating his eyes and burning the back of his nose.

With a grunt, Jesse grasped the steel beams around his trapped leg, trying to find purchase and push himself up. But his right hand was clammy, and the metallic fingers of his left one didn’t respond. Water also made everything slippery, and since when had its level risen that much, anyway?

“Shit”, Jesse hissed.

Another wave hit him, harder than before.

The sea was swallowing up the ship too quickly, or maybe it was the ship that was sinking. Jesse didn’t really know and didn’t want to. His mouth was already underwater, the salt burning his lower lip, busted in a drunken fight, and he just had the time to inhale deeply before he was dragged under the surface.

Jesse looked up to see the blurry red of the lifeboats retreating above him, and he wanted to get mad about it. He wanted to call the crew back, to tell them to help him, to save him from this miserable end.

But Jesse couldn't find the strength to feel anger. The crew wasn’t going to risk anyone to save him, and they were right. He wasn't worth it.

So, Jesse kicked again, his free leg trying to push the wooden plank away. But it was stuck, firmly nailed to a heavier, sturdier beam. The water was restraining every single one of his movements, making him powerless, and the air of his lung was escaping his mouth in a mess of bubbles. Jesse was seeing his life float away and it became so, so clear.

He was going to die.

And he wasn’t in peace, Jesse McCree. He wasn’t in peace, and would not rest in peace; but he had learned long ago to accept fate however it would come. Acceptance didn’t mean he wanted to see, though, see how deep he was going to sink, how the abyss would devour him, how the end was going to take him.

Jesse was peering down a final time when he realized the abyss wasn’t as dark and frightening as he thought. There was a small light under him, blue like Santa Fe’s cloudless summer sky, and Jesse hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t destined to Hell.

Until the light blinked at him.

It twitched. Rolled. Moved away. Disappeared.

It reappeared further away, and Jesse writhed with a newfound vigor.

The light wasn’t dull. It fenced off the darkness of the marine depths, cast an eerie glow over algae and the broken ship.

Jesse saw a flash of vibrant blue scales and strands of a white mane and cursed, again. It wasn't just a light; and as the strange thing approached once again, Jesse could see, despite his blurry eyesight and his burning lungs, that it looked like an overgrown snake.

He kicked aimlessly the water around him with the last burst of energy he had, desperation and panic gripping tightly his chest.

The creature circled around Jesse; once, twice. It seemed curious. The third time it swirled, it charged right after, jaw opened wide, wide enough to gobble Jesse up; and Jesse was sure a snake wasn’t supposed to be that long, to have four legs and talons and fuck, Jesse cursed in his mind.  _Fuck_.

It wasn’t a snake, wasn’t it?

There was light, bright and blinding, as if the thunder of the sky was reaching the hidden depths of the sea, and Jesse was too tired to try to understand what was happening.

He closed his eyes.

Breathed.

\- - -

  
Jesse woke up with his whole body aching. His leg was cast in a makeshift splint, the wounds of his thigh bandaged. The back of his throat and nose hurt, as if something burned them - _salt_ , Jesse’s mind supplied.

He became suddenly aware that he escaped death as memories rushed in. Blinking, Jesse swiftly rolled on his side, wanting to push himself up, only to have his face meet the floor. He grimaced. His prosthetic arm was missing.

With careful movements, Jesse still managed to sit. He then looked down at his chest.

Someone changed his clothes. The large windbreaker he wore on the ship was gone, replaced by a clean and plain white shirt, a little too small for him. His pants were pulled off too, but fortunately, the person undressing him didn't take off his boxers. He appreciated it.

Jesse wrinkled his nose and sniffed, made a face when he smelled the sea around him and the algae in his hair. Changed, but not cleaned, then.

His grimace disappeared, replaced by a raised eyebrow when Jesse looked around him.

Jesse was resting in a tiny room of what was probably -judging by the fishing rods adorning the walls- a fisherman cabin. Made of wood and sparsely furnished, Jesse was lying on the sole futon of the room. Beside him, a small end table held some trinkets and, on what seemed to be a porcelain dining plate, his lighter.

Ah. He didn’t lose it in the shipwreck, then, Jesse thought with a smile, extending his hand to catch it.

The lighter was one of the rare items Jesse had always kept around since he left America for Japan, a year ago, to take up a sailor job. He was lucky enough to find an English-speaking crew on that old commercial ship.

Until quite recently, though, it never occurred to Jesse that it would be _that_ difficult to live so far away from Santa Fe’s sun.

Jesse didn’t mind the smell of the sea, per se, nor the brine of the air. The icy winds of the northern part of Japan, where he decided to settle down, didn’t bother him either. It was just... Strange. There was just nothing familiar in Japan. No one he really knew, no one he truly trusted. Jesse left everything behind him, except for that lighter and some other trinkets, probably now lost to the sea.

Homesick now more than any time before, Jesse flicked the lighter open. No flame. Jesse expected it -it had been, after all, in his pocket when the ship had sunk- so he just sighed, playing with it.

The door suddenly flew open, and Jesse jumped. The lighter fell on the futon, his sole hand immediately reaching down to his side.

“My apologies,” the man at the doorstep gruffly said in English, eyeing Jesse’s hand clutched on the right side of his hips with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t think you were awake.”

The man was probably his rescuer, Jesse thought, staring at him. He relaxed, just a little.

The first thing Jesse noticed was the impressive tattoo sleeve covering the man’s left arm. He didn’t know how big it was, as the stranger’s shoulders were covered by his shirt, but Jesse saw enough to recognize an oriental dragon and clouds, among other Japanese patterns. With a dominant of blue and details in yellow, Jesse felt the urge to touch, until he thought about the strange creature underwater.

He didn’t remember much, but some images of both his drowning ( _pain in his thigh, fishes wiggling away, darkness, so much darkness_ ) and the strange creature ( _sharp fangs, sturdy scales, electric blue eyes_ ) flashed vividly in his mind. Was it real, or a hallucination made by his oxygen-deprived brain, Jesse didn’t know, but he still shuddered in sheer horror. His hand patted his side again.

“Are you... Okay?” the man said, narrowing his eyes.

He approached Jesse, cautiously, kneeling in front of him to study him. One of his hands gently touched the wounded man’s shoulder, leaving enough time and room for Jesse to recoil if he didn’t want any contact.

“You are under shock,” the man explained, his free hand tucking a strand of his long black hair behind his ear. “You need rest. You almost drowned.”

Jesse didn’t mind the man’s hand on his shoulder. It was warm and reassuring after the bite of the cold sea. It was comforting.

“Thank you,” Jesse only managed to croak, his voice rough with disuse.

The stranger didn’t smile, but his eyes, as dark as his hair, were immediately softer. “No need to,” he said gently, before standing up. “I’ll give you some water. You rest. Restroom is,” he gestured towards the door, “to the left but...”

He gave Jesse’s injured leg a pointed look and wrinkled his nose. “I’ll bring a... basin.”

Jesse felt heat creep up his cheeks. “I, huh, I’ll manage. I don’t think my leg is broken. Erm. Thank you, though.”

“... Fine.”

The man didn’t say anything more. He just skirted around Jesse, reaching a closet to pick up a towel, a pillow, and clean clothes.

“Ah, hum, the name’s Jesse McCree, by the way,” Jesse said, slowly, not sure about how he should introduce himself.

The man paused, tilted his head to stare at him. “Hanzo,” he replied after a beat. He seemed to hesitate a second, then added, “Shimada. But do call me Hanzo. And no need for honorifics.”

“Fine by me,” Jesse smiled. “Thank you... Hanzo. Call me Jesse.”

Hanzo huffed and stalked out of the room, his muscular arms carrying too many items for Jesse to see his face. He came back a couple of minutes later with a glass of water, before he disappeared again.

Jesse gulped down its content, and laid back. He stared at the wooden ceiling, wondering if all the crew made it back safely. He wanted to ask Hanzo, but he wasn’t even sure if the man knew. He sighed, and, not having anything to do, fell asleep.

 

A splattering of shiny stars was high in the sky when Jesse woke up again. The sole window of the room framed them perfectly and Jesse stared, his eyes bleary. He took a moment to reorient himself.

His apartment wasn’t like that. His apartment was bigger and more colorful, with red and brown and leather and. Oh. Yes. Jesse wasn’t home. He was in Japan. He almost died doing a job not supposed to be dangerous.

After a few minutes spent studying the stars outside, Jesse grunted, forcing himself to sit up. Despite his reassurance earlier, Hanzo had still put a basin beside the futon. The American snorted, preferring to carefully remove the splint. He flexed his leg with a grimace.

It wasn’t broken, just wounded, skin covered with scratches and cuts, mostly. One particularly deep gash made Jesse frown. He wouldn’t have expected that kind of injury from splinters. It almost looked like he was stabbed.

He prodded it lightly when he noticed the stitches, then huffed. It was an ugly wound, but didn’t hurt that much. 

As he stood up, Jesse had to blink the black spots swarming his vision away. He made a face again. How long had he spent lying unconscious in this cabin? 

His way to the restroom was messy. Jesse stumbled more than he walked in there, and he thanked the sink for holding his weight when he grasped and leaned a little too much on it.

Jesse sighed. He lifted his gaze, looking at his reflection on the mirror.

There was no light in the corridor behind him, and he didn’t bother to turn on the bathroom's. He could still see how his eyes were sunken and tired, the chocolate brown of his irises dull. His complexion, pallid, and his chestnut hair, unkempt and sticking to his face, gave him a sick air. Jesse winced. He really needed a shower... And a nice trim, his mind added when he ran his hand in his oddly shaped beard.

“Not sleeping?”

Hanzo’s voice was close, but Jesse couldn’t see him with the reflection of the mirror. He was probably in the corridor, beside the door, not wanting to peer inside the room in case Jesse wasn’t fully clothed.

Jesse appreciated the thought. He wasn't very self-conscious, but he just craved the intimacy the small ship didn't permit. 

“Never been a heavy sleeper,” the American said, stepping away from the sink to join Hanzo.

Now that they were both standing and facing each other, Jesse noticed he was a couple of inches taller than Hanzo. But the other man had an aura around him, a strange air that made his presence impressive despite his smaller frame. Something inexplicable that deeply inspired respect, and a little bit of awe.

“Huh, thank you again,” Jesse said, bowing awkwardly, trying to not fall.

Hanzo tilted his head.

“Anyone seeing a dying man would have done this,” he replied, his voice harsh but with no real heat behind it. Jesse guessed it was just how he talked. Maybe Hanzo never really noticed. “And you don’t need to bow.”

Jesse straightened himself up, Hanzo helping him. The man was, despite his cold voice, gentle and watchful. Someone who cared for others, even strangers, it seemed.

“I brought your arm,” Hanzo muttered after a beat, eyes darting to Jesse’s left arm's stump, covered with a metal plate and wires dangling from it.

Jesse didn’t notice it at first, but Hanzo was indeed carrying cautiously his prosthetic arm with a hand, handling it as if he was scared to break it. Jesse chuckled quietly.

“It ain’t fragile, y’know,” he said, taking it from Hanzo. “And thanks. Hate to do stuff without it.”

“Are you putting it now?” Hanzo asked, then added, his eyes on the restroom’s open door, “Can you shower with it?”

Jesse laughed aloud, this time, making Hanzo wrinkle his nose. His voice was rough and his chest painful, but it was incredible to laugh again, after what happened.

“Yes, I can,” he reassured, walked back to the room he slept, inviting Hanzo to follow him with a tilt of his head.

“But _should_ you shower with it?” Hanzo asked quietly, watching Jesse sit down on the futon with a frown. He did the same.

“Don’t know. Never had any problems, though.”

Jesse shrugged, using his only hand to unlock hatches and pull wires. He expected some sort of disgust, but beside him, Hanzo only seemed intrigued. Judging the way he was staring intently at the prosthetic arm, he probably had a lot of questions.

Jesse wasn’t wrong. Hanzo, lip pursed, tried not so subtly to peek at the wires.

“Is it... painful?”

“Sometimes”, Jesse sighed, plugging the wires of the prosthetic to his severed arm. He winced as he felt the synthetic nerves synchronize with his organic ones. “But you get used to it.”

“How did you...?” Hanzo trailed off, fidgeting.

Jesse blinked. His gaze found Hanzo’s.

Himself didn’t remember much of how he lost his arm. He just knew he was nineteen at that time, that there were cries and shouts, smoke, plaster on his left arm, the burn of a bullet in his chest and-

“My apologies,” Hanzo said. “I pried too much.”

“Ah, don’t. Apologize, I mean. It’s just...”

“... Some memories will always be painful,” Hanzo completed quietly, _solemnly_ , with an understanding tilt of his head. “I understand.”

He stood up gracefully, ran a hand in his hair.

“I will leave you to it, unless you need help?”

Jesse shook his head.

“Very well. Towels are already in the bathroom. Have a good night, Jesse. Rest well.”

Hanzo walked away, carefully shutting the door behind him, and Jesse stared at it for a long time before he finished reattaching his arm.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo doesn't sound like a fisherman.  
> Jesse has his own hypothesis.

Jesse didn’t think about it at first. But, as Hanzo inspected the wounds of his thigh, approximately three days after the shipwreck, he frowned and blurted out, “Why didn’t you bring me to a hospital ?”

The Hanzo he tried to know these past days was far from the first impression Jesse had. Yes, the Japanese man was watchful, but no, he wasn’t gentle. He was only polite, _too_ polite, so much that Jesse began to feel frustrated. He was terribly evasive, too, constantly on his guard whenever Jesse wanted to ask something about him. Sometimes, even the smallest question (“ _hey, how old are you, by the way?_ ”), made him tense.

Hanzo blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. As expected, Jesse saw Hanzo’s feature subtly harden.

“I know how to treat these wounds,” he said, curtly. “When I found you, I thought it was better to make sure you would survive first.”

Jesse pursed his lips. “But when you made sure I was safe. When I was just sleeping... Why didn’t you bring me to a hospital?”

“I was afraid to move you,” Hanzo replied with a scoff, as if it was an obvious answer. “So I called a doctor. That splint,” he gestured at Jesse's leg, “isn’t mine.”

Jesse exhaled loudly though his nose. He stood up and crossed his arms, towering Hanzo, still on his knees.

Hanzo quickly corrected that. He also stood up, remained unimpressed. He seemed calm enough, even though something was lighting up in his eyes. Annoyance, maybe. No - not really. It was too threatening, and there was a strange reflection, in his irises.

“Well,” Jesse snorted disdainfully, deciding to ignore Hanzo's eyes and instead tilting his head down towards the splint. “That ain’t the doctor’s either. Welcome in 2080, Hanzo. No one makes splint with wood anymore.”

Hanzo remained silent. He was noticeably more on edge, though. In addition to his narrowed eyes and bitten lips, his shoulders were squared, hands clutched around his crossed arms. He looked like a cornered animal; mad yet vulnerable, seeking an escape route.

Jesse tried to calm himself down.

Not because he was afraid, no. He was just _cautious_.

Jesse was, after all, in an almost stranger’s home; in a small, almost deserted village lost in western Hokkaido. He didn’t exactly know where he was, since he couldn’t wander out these last few days. He only saw a dormant mountain through the window of his room, some cherry trees and an immensity of _green_.

Even if he could speak some Japanese, the odds were against Jesse, here. He didn’t know anyone who could help him, didn’t know who Hanzo exactly was, didn’t know what he wanted. He wasn’t sure how he could flee this village if something dangerous came to happen either. There was a harbor, sure. But what about trains? Planes? How could he even buy a ticket? Or sneak in any of these means of transport with his wound? Shit. He didn't even have a phone.

So Jesse took a deep breath, lowered his voice. He needed to inspire trust if he wanted to get the truth.

“Listen, you probably have your reason for all that...” Jesse tried to find the right word, “... Secrecy. But can you at least tell where I am ?”

Jesse eyed Hanzo’s tattoo. Perhaps he was a criminal not wanting to draw the authorities’ attention? A gang member? Some sort of yakuza?

“Hanamura,” Hanzo finally replied reluctantly. “A small village near Mount Raiden.”

He sighed wearily.

“I do have my reasons for not finding a doctor, or a hospital. But I did so knowing that I could save you myself”, Hanzo explained, fingers drumming on his arms. “I did not want to cause you any distress, and I apologize for that. Let... Let me see your wounds. If you are feeling better, we can visit the village together. You will see that I speak the truth.”

He seemed relieved to tell it, the truth, even if he wasn’t giving any details. Jesse stared at Hanzo for a moment, then groaned, sitting back on the chair. He will need to satisfy himself with these tiny pieces of information for now.

“Fine. Apologies accepted.”

Hanzo nodded jerkily. He knelt down again in front of Jesse. 

“They seem to heal well,” he said, voice still a little tense as he gently changed the wounds' dressing. “You’ll be able to join me this afternoon, unless it still hurts. You will need new clothes.”

Jesse peered down. The shirts lent to him were, indeed, too small, almost ripping at their seams. Hanzo’s jeans were even worse on him, so he just borrowed a pair of very elastic jogging pants, fashion sense be damned.

Jesse mourned the comfort of his own clothes -the ones he had were torn or lost during the shipwreck-. Only the flannel shirt he wore under the windbreaker was mostly intact, but still smelled of algae and brine, despite the numerous washes.

“Fine idea, but, I, huh, ain’t got money. Sank with the ship,” Jesse said, scratching the back of his head. He felt embarrassment color his cheeks, dusting his olive skin with splashes of red.

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “I know. I am not asking you to pay for it. Now get yourself ready if you want to come.”

He stalked away, chest puffed and chin high, and Jesse stumbled behind him.

His thigh didn’t hurt that much anymore, but the wounds were still tender, the skin pulling around the stitches. He carefully maneuvered himself, avoiding the chair and the coffee table on his path.

“Hanzo,” Jesse called after the other man. “Hanzo, just... If you don’t mind me askin’... Why are you helpin’ me so much?”

Hanzo ran a hand in his hair. “It is natural, to help” he said, then shrugged. “And I am not a couple of yen short.”

“Don’t you have, like, work? Or some obligation?”

“I work at night. And I have a few days off,” was Hanzo’s only answer. “Now please hurry up.”

Evasive again, Jesse mused. He was probably right about Hanzo being a criminal. What kind of work could he do during the night? Hanamura didn’t seem big enough to entertain its citizen with a lot of nightly activities. Jesse was sure he spotted a bar through the window, but then, Hanzo never smelled like alcohol and didn't seem the type to spend time in these kinds of places.

A fisherman, then? Jesse snorted at the mere idea. No. The cabin was a fisherman’s one before, maybe, but now, the fishing poles were only decoration, judging by their thin layer of dust. Besides, the western side of Hokkaido wasn’t known to be a great fishing spot.

Jesse narrowed his eyes. He didn’t press for more, and got ready with a sigh.

He’ll investigate later, he decided, joining Hanzo.

They stepped out of the cabin, Jesse carefully closing the door behind him.

The cabin was, really, in front of the sea, offering an outstanding view of the afternoon sunrays on the waves. Jesse wanted to stay and watch, but Hanzo urged him on, muttered something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like a reproach.

Being outside, with a pair of blue jogging pants Hanzo obviously didn’t wear for years, a too tight shirt, a brown, knitted cardigan and _fucking_ flip-flops was ridiculous. Jesse had always preferred leather boots, flannel shirts and, God, he missed his _hat_. Well, at least, it wasn’t winter anymore.

He sighed, and glanced at how Hanzo’s clothes perfectly fitted him. The sense of ridiculousness he felt morphed into self-consciousness. Mortified, Jesse looked down.

Hanzo’s attire was simple -a white blouse, a tight pair of black jeans and shiny leather shoes-, but for some reason, Jesse expected a windbreaker. Rubber boots. He didn’t really know why. Something in Hanzo reminded him the vast expanse of the sea.

They reached the open market a couple of minutes later. It was... _rustic_ , for a lack of better word. Rustic, but pleasant. Jesse looked at the wooden made stalls, listened to the shouts of the merchants, enjoyed the sight of cherry blossoms. It covered everything in a pastel pink mantle, the smaller streets and the roads disappearing beneath it.

Hanamura was beautiful, Jesse thought, in awe, as Hanzo left him at a clothing stall to buy some food.

 

Hanzo was tilting his head, looking at a fresh sockeye salmon critically when Jesse caught up with him, a bag full of basic clothes in his hand. He arrived the second the fishmonger noticed Hanzo.

“ _Ah, Shimada-san,_ ” the merchant exclaimed in Japanese. “ _A fine day, isn’t it ? Caught that beauty earlier._ ”

“ _A nice catch, indeed. How much will it be?_ ” Hanzo asked.

“ _No need to, no need to. I could catch it thanks to you, isn’t it? It’s just fair to give it to you! You can make a good_[nabe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nabemono) _, for you and your guest, here._ ”

Jesse smiled when Hanzo turned back to him, eyeing said guest with a frown.

Jesse could understand Japanese quite well, since he moved a year ago. Still, he decided to pretend he didn’t. If Hanzo wanted to keep secrets, he was going to, too.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Hanzo finally said to the fishmonger with a small bow and a smile. Said smile that faltered when he turned his attention on Jesse, who had suddenly grasped his arm. “What?”

“Who lives in this castle ?” Jesse asked, hastily taking off his hand before Hanzo decided to cut it.

Jesse tilted his chin towards the impressive castle perched high on a hill.

The building, with a structure made of deep, vibrant wood, was towering over the rest of the village. Jesse was a little too far to properly see the castle, but, while the place seemed unoccupied, it appeared clean. Pink petals were regularly pushed aside, judging by neat pile of flowers by the gates. From afar, it almost looked like a temple.

Hanzo clutched a little too tightly his purse. “No one lives there.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes, wondering if he should prod, ask questions. Hanzo was a terrible liar, and Jesse was right to call him out on it. It wasn’t an easy task, though, as earlier, Jesse was pretty sure Hanzo would have done something if he hadn’t stopped to ask questions. Not punching -Hanzo didn’t seem to be someone who threw punches-, but worse. Jesse was sure of it.

Jesse stared at Hanzo with a raised eyebrow, then turned to the fishmonger.

“ _Hey, excuse me,_ ” he said in Japanese a little awkwardly, thickening up his accent. The fishmonger rose his head. “ _Do you mind, uh, telling me who lives there? That’s a very beautiful... castle._ ”

Jesse used simple words and fumbled with them on purpose.

The fishmonger smiled, delighted to hear a foreigner speak Japanese. “ _Oh, that’s the Shimada castle !_ ” he exclaimed as his hands deftly wrapped up the salmon.

His movements stuttered when Hanzo threw him a pointed look. For a second, Jesse swore he saw a blue glint in the usual tar of his eyes, a streak of silver in his black hair. Jesse blinked.

It was gone.

“ _But t-there’s nothing interesting there. Nothing,_ ” the merchant quickly added, voice lower, drawing Jesse’s attention again. His hands were shaking. “ _And the gates are closed, anyway._ ”

He hastily gave Hanzo the fish he prepared, bowed lowly, before he busied himself with something else, muttering something in Japanese that Jesse didn’t catch. Hanzo didn’t say anything. He just turned away, forcing Jesse to follow him.

To Jesse’s surprise, Hanzo didn’t walk towards the cabin, but the castle. He climbed the steep path leading there, stopping sometimes to let Jesse catch up, who had troubles to. His injuries began to hurt again.

If he was honest with himself, Jesse was trying to find an escape route along the way. He knew that panicked look the merchant had: it screamed _danger_. _Fear_.

Hanzo was probably not someone good. Under the first impression he gave -the one painting him as a polite, Japanese fisherman with a big heart-, Jesse found confusing elements. In addition all the secrecy around him, Hanzo was terrifying the local folks. Why? Jesse wanted to scratch deeper, but wasn’t sure if he would like whatever he’ll be able to find.

He stared at Hanzo’s back. They didn’t say anything until they reached the closed gates of the Shimada castle. In his pockets, Jesse clenched his hands into tight fists, ready to strike.

“Here. Happy?” Hanzo grunted, turning back, crossing his arms.

Jesse halted, blinked up at the castle, down at its gates.

“No,” he replied. Hanzo rose a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I... We don’t know each other, so I won’t pry,” Jesse continued with a weary sigh. “But seein’ how that poor man reacted, and how _you_ reacted when he talked ‘bout that castle, I have a slight idea of what’s happening here.”

Hanzo didn’t say anything, but he eyes were urging him to go on. Jesse scratched the back of his head nervously.

“You, or your family used to be powerful, enough to have a castle,” Jesse said, gesturing at the gates, at the building. “Something happened, though, and you’re involved in that. And that puts you in danger, maybe, judgin’ the way you’re reacting. And the way you don't want to reply to any of my questions.”

Hanzo chuckled.

It was humorless.

“How can you be sure?”

Hanzo approached, peering up at Jesse. They were suddenly close, too close, enough for Jesse to feel extremely uncomfortable. Hanzo could, from this distance, harm him in so many ways. Jesse gritted his teeth, preparing to flee. 

“How can you be sure I am the one in danger,” Hanzo said, voice low and predatory, his features slightly disdainful, “and not the dangerous one?”

His eyes reflected a little too much the blue of the sky.

Jesse stepped back hastily. 

“I’ve heard about the Shimada clan, before,” he blurted out nervously, defensively. Hanzo, surprised, frowned. This time, something _definitely_ flickered in his eyes.

“When ?” he asked.

Jesse silently cursed. Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Internet is a mighty fine place to learn some stuff. There was a report about the grand, vicious, Shimada family suddenly losing everythin’,” he explained, then added with a shrug, “and there were gossips about someone from the family being involved in that. From that, and what I learned today, I just connected the dots.”

If Hanzo was suspicious about his explanation, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t confirm, didn’t deny. He just stared at the doors, tense. Jesse tried to bring the attention elsewhere. His story had holes.

“So, huh. I didn’t think about it when you told me your name because, well. Why would the grand Shimada family stay in this small village, but, now... Erm. Why did you... Do whatever you did?”

“Betrayal,” Hanzo said instead of replying, his voice cold. “Use proper words. Say what you think.”

Jesse inhaled sharply.

“I didn’t want to imply that,” he muttered.

“But you did.”

Jesse flinched. He didn’t try to correct himself, this time.

“Listen I... When I read about it, about your family, I thought it was about power. But you... You don’t strike me as someone hungerin’ for power.”

Hanzo cast his eyes down. There was sadness in them.

“That... Is true,” he finally said, voice startlingly soft. “I do not want power. _Any_ power.”

He didn’t offer any other information after that, and Jesse didn’t dare to ask for more. He cleared his throat. Hanzo seemed suddenly too vulnerable and it was somehow wrong. It wasn’t the vulnerability Jesse saw earlier, when they confronted each other. There was no anger this time, no. Only resignation and defeat; like a man waiting to be hung.

So Jesse was right. Hanzo was a criminal, or used to be; and more than that, he was a Shimada. He acted against his own flesh and blood. That would require a courage Jesse was sure he hadn’t. He drew a shaky breath.

_How dare you do this, Jesse-_

_We are family-_

“If you need anything, I’ll help you,” Jesse said, a little bit too loudly, chasing the voice out of his mind.

“Why, and what would you do?” Hanzo retorted, his gaze studying Jesse from head to toe. “ _What can you do_ ” was heavily implied. The American flushed.

“I don’t look like it, but I know how to fight. And I sure don’t like debts.”

Hanzo sighed, rose a hand to rest it on Jesse’s shoulder. His grip was tight and painful, and despite knowing this -Jesse’s wince was telling-, Hanzo didn’t let go.

“You almost met death but came back, Jesse McCree,” he said solemnly. “Do not offer your life that easily.”

Hanzo stepped back. He didn’t look back when began to walk down the path back home.

“I have cooking to do. Unless you need something else, hurry.”

 

 

“You left America ?” Hanzo asked. “Why?”

After they came back to Hanzo’s cabin, the Japanese man began to prod, asking too many questions about Jesse. Age ( _37, sir, I don’t look like it, heh?_ ), occupation ( _Sailor... Or used to be, now..._ ), place of birth ( _Canyon Road, Santa Fe. Almost grew up in art galleries, y’know?_ )... Hanzo seemed curious. Had he never left Japan?

Jesse smiled. Hanzo didn’t gave too much information, but the ones he did gave, albeit reluctantly, were important. Hanzo trusted Jesse to some extent if he let him know about his rather... _delicate_ situation. It was only fair to give answers in turn.

Because, if Jesse wanted, he could sell this information. He _could_ send Hanzo to his death. The Shimada family could be weakened, now, but they were still loaded and had enough influence to change Jesse's life for the better... Or the worse.

Jesse didn’t know what Hanzo did, though, to be in danger. “ _Betrayal_ ” was a too vague word. Did Hanzo rat out the rest of his family? Did he join another clan? Did he rebel?

What Jesse heard, back when he was still in America, hadn’t covered much the fall of the Shimada clan and how it exactly happened. The stories were mostly about how betrayal (oh, how Jesse _hated_ this word) could come from within, from someone you trust. 

Hanzo picked up a mushroom from the _nabe_. He was still expecting an answer, and Jesse sighed.

“I left because I came to hate Santa Fe,” Jesse said, twirling his chopsticks in his hand. “Didn’t feel like home anymore.”

Hanzo hummed understandably, nodding. He didn’t ask anything else. His eyes were still curious, though, and the faint tilt of his head conveyed curiosity, so Jesse supposed he was expected to elaborate.

“Got my lil’ heart smashed in tiny pieces but, hey. It happens,” he explained with a shrug. “So I left all behind and came here.”

“For a heartbreak?” Hanzo said, frowning.

Jesse made a face.

“It’s complicated,” he groaned and hastily added, “And talkin’ about places an’ all, I think I might stay here for a few days.”

Hanzo choked on his food.

“I am not a mystery to solve,” he hissed curtly, eyes narrowed, and were his teeth longer or...? “Or something to protect. You don’t owe me anything, Jesse McCree.”

But Jesse did owe Hanzo, didn’t he? He would be dead, if his unconscious body hadn’t been found on the shore. His artificial fingers drummed on his thigh nervously. He didn’t want to see Hanzo’s face, so he stared at the hot pot in front of him, hoping that the cloud of steam would help.

It didn’t.

“It’s not about you. I just happen to like Hanamura.”

“There’s nothing to see here,” Hanzo snorted. “The market is small, the castle is closed, the beach is boring.”

“The blooming flowers are pretty, though,” Jesse mused. “Anyway. I’ll find an hotel, don’t worry. I ain’t gonna bother you.”

Hanzo huffed.

“There is no hotel here either,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Since Hanamura was a small village, Jesse didn’t doubt Hanzo’s words. But the lack of accommodation also seemed to be an excuse to make Jesse leave.

Nothing surprising, knowing how Hanzo liked to keep his secrets. Jesse groaned. He truly wanted to stay a couple of days. Hanamura was calm and beautiful.

His face had betrayed his thoughts, Jesse noticed, the moment Hanzo sighed loudly and pressed a palm almost painfully against his closed eyes.

“You can stay here for now,” Hanzo finally conceded. “But I dislike freeloaders. You will help, and you will not take my room anymore.”

Jesse frowned.

“Wait, what, I was sleeping in your room?”

“Do not be stupid,” Hanzo replied, rolling his eyes. “There is only a single room in this place. Where did you think you were sleeping?”

“But,” Jesse stuttered, “but where did you sleep?”

Hanzo shrugged. “Beside you. The futon is big enough for two men, Jesse.”

“W-What-”

“It was a joke,” Hanzo deadpanned before Jesse could combust. He pointed at the kotatsu. “I slept here.”

Before Jesse could even recover, Hanzo pushed the hot pot in front of him. “Once you’re finished, you can start by cleaning the table.”

“But my leg-”

Hanzo glared at Jesse, arms crossed. “You could climb the path to the castle. You’re well enough to clean dishes.”

Jesse didn’t protest.

“Fine,” he finally said, fighting a smile. Hanzo's bossiness was quite funny. “I’ll take care of that. Are you going to sleep? Don’t you have, you know, your ‘ _night work_ ’.”

Hanzo huffed, wrinkling his nose as he noticed Jesse's amusement.

“Not tonight,” he only said.

He left the living room, leaving Jesse with his thoughts.

Hanzo was not only a former member of the Shimada clan, but also family. A cousin of the heir, maybe, judging by his age? Jesse never heard of Hanzo Shimada. He heard about Sojiro Shimada, who fell ill and died five years ago, but otherwise...

A sigh. It wasn’t like Jesse ever paid attention to the Shimada family. He heard about them, read about them but that was all. He never tried to search for more.

Jesse grunted. What kind of night work could a fallen member of the Shimada clan do in Japan? Non criminal work, probably, as any gang would shun him.

Pursing his lips, Jesse tried to find an answer. There were small shops around there. Maybe a convenience store, then? Most of them were open all night, and the idea of Hanzo behind a counter, wearing an ugly yellow uniform was too funny to not consider it.

Shit, Jesse cursed as he tried to not laugh. He wanted to get to know Hanzo under his layers of half-truths and white lies.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/roboticake) and [Tumblr](https://roboticake.tumblr.com) if you wish to talk ! :)


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